


Helping Hands

by factorielle



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Awkwardness, Falling In Love, First Time, Hand Job, M/M, Massage, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/factorielle/pseuds/factorielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Mizutani pulled a back muscle during practice, and Izumi offers to give him an... <i>intimate</i> massage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Now I understand why you didn't mind so much. Your team works hard in the field all day, and here you are, lounging in bed in the middle of the afternoon."

Mizutani makes the effort to turn his head far enough to glance at his visitor. It's not that he didn't recognize the voice, but it's kind of surprising to see him here without prior warning. "I do mind. But the doctor said to take it easy," he groans, for appearances' sake. The doctor did say that, but it was probably not meant as an excuse to spend two days laying face down in bed, chest propped on a pillow to read manga as comfortably as possible. "How did you get in here anyway?"

Izumi drops his bags near the door and glances at the piles of books by the bed, artfully set up so as to be just within reach without being in the way if Mizutani needs to roll out of bed. "Your sister was leaving. Did the doctor also mention that straining your back by lifting a full case of equipment on your own to impress the manager is the most embarrassing injury ever recorded in the history of high school baseball?"

He's not going to rise to the bait. Izumi has been trying to make him admit things he doesn't want to admit for months, so he knows how to sidestep the little provocations. "Did you come here just to make fun of me?" It's kind of a long way, from school to here back to Izumi's place.

"Actually, I bring presents." He sits on the ground by the head of the bed and hooks a foot through the strap of his school bag to pull it closer as Mizutani, momentarily distracted from his indignation, asks what he's brought.

"I have," Izumi says, opening his bag slowly, "everybody's 'get better soon' wishes, your homework..." He completely ignores Mizutani's groan as he pulls a thick wad of paper out of his bag. "Abe says you're not allowed to flake out on this, by the way. And..." more rummaging. By this point, Mizutani's pretty much lost interest. "Anpan," Izumi declares, holding up the plastic wrapper just out of his reach.

"Gimme!" At some point in the late summer, Mizutani has discovered that the cafeteria's anpan is made with magically delicious red bean paste. His teammates think he's weird for liking it so much, but they have it backward. They're the weird ones, for not understanding how awesome it is. "Ow!"

The sudden movement made reaching for the bread makes him cry out and retreat back to his previous position, groaning.

"Shouldn't you know better than to do that?" Izumi says, getting back up to put the bread on top of one of the manga piles.

"You should know better than to tease me with anpan when I'm injured," Mizutani protests because clearly, his being in pain is all Izumi's fault.

"Won't happen again. Let me see if I can help?" He sits in the middle of the bed, on the side, and tugs at Mizutani's t-shirt.

"Are you even qualified for this?" he asks, already hoisting himself up enough to let the t-shirt be pushed to his shoulders.

"Shigapo's been teaching me, remember? He says I know enough not to make it worse."

Mizutani decides to take off the shirt completely. It'll be more comfortable that way. "That's not reassuring, you know."

Izumi seems too ponder this. "I guess not. But I could use the training."

"Is that why you brought me anpan? So I'd let you use me as a guinea pig?"

"No, that was to be nice because you're addicted to the stupid things and it'd suck for you to have to go cold turkey. _This_ is also to be nice because you've just hurt yourself in a really stupid way, so shut up. Just tell me where it hurts." He sets both hands flat on Mizutani's shoulders and begins to trail them down, light and warm. Mizutani tenses when they reach his lower back, which is where most of the pain has been located, albeit made fuzzy by healthy doses of ibuprofen.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Izumi sighs, and pulls away completely to go look for something in his sports bag. "And I'm not allowed to tickle you when you're in that state, either, so think about the runner on third or something. Relax."

Mizutani takes a deep breath, sinking a bit further into the mattress when he exhales. Izumi comes and sits back down in the same place. And then, nothing happens.

"What are you doing?" he asks after a minute, resisting the temptation to turn around and see for himself.

"Making the oil warmer for your comfort and convenience. Believe me, I'd like nothing more than to drop it right on you, but Shigapo says that's a only a small step up from cruelty to fuzzy baby animals."

"I like this injury thing," Mizutani muses, laying his head comfortably between his arms. "It's forcing you to be nice to me."

Izumi snorts. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Mizutani doesn't have the time to ask what that means before both hands are back on his shoulders, slightly warmer and slicker than before. It feels nice. "I'll start in a safe place." Which is good news. It's not that he doesn't trust Izumi, but for all he knows this is his friend's first real try at this, and Mizutani would really prefer it if there was a test run before he starts kneading at his injury. He's suffered enough for the day. Hell, he's suffered enough for the year.

After a couple of minutes, it appears that his concerns were unfounded. The second run of Izumi's hands down his back is a little slower and heavier than the first, making all of his skin pleasantly warm, and then he pushes a thumb in what has to be a very specific spot on his upper back and it's a little painful but mostly--

"Oh yeah." Mizutani lets his eyes close, stretching out a little to get perfectly comfortable.

His breathing deepens as the massage moves down, so slowly that at first he doesn't even notice. It's just, at one point the palms of Izumi's hands are flat on his shoulderblades, and some time later only his fingertips brush over them anymore, and then not even that. He doesn't know how it happened, or when. It doesn't really matter, either, as long as it never stops.

Or, to be more realistic, happens every day from now on. For a couple of hours. Maybe he can bribe Izumi into doing this regularly. Maybe he won't have to pay for it, even. Didn't Izumi say he needed the practice anyway? It could be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Mizutani is all for mutually beneficial arrangements in which all he needs to do is lay back and enjoy.

He's so utterly relaxed that when Izumi's hand reaches the zone of Horrible Pain he barely twitches.

"Okay?" Izumi asks anyway, and takes the pleased hum for the assent it is, laying both hands flat over the spot where his muscles still twitch sometimes. It hurts, there, when the pressure increases, but not too bad. Izumi is paying attention, responding to every twitch and every sound of discomfort by a change of position or pressure or motion, and the only thing that lasts is the warmth of his hands.

"Ishgood," he manages to say before closing his eyes, moving all his focus to the pain that's being kneaded away from his muscles. Good isn't even the word. It's ten kinds of fantastic, and it lasts... he doesn't know how long it lasts. The amazing feeling down there makes seconds merge into minutes or hours, and the only way he has to remember that time is actually passing is by the succession of his own happy sighs.

To hell with being reasonable. As far as he's concerned, this is never allowed to stop.

Of course, that's when it stops, after one last run down Mizutani's back. His displeased grunt makes Izumi laugh, but that's still not enough to make him start again. "That worked out better than I expected," he says, sounding obviously pleased with himself.

"I don't know, I think you still need more practice," Mizutani throws back, but his words are slurred into a yawn, which only makes Izumi chuckle.

He pouts for a moment, then resigns himself to the inevitable. Takes a long, deep breath, and makes to roll over, since it would be a little rude to keep his back to his guest the whole time.

He stops midway when he notices something he had honestly not been aware of up until now.

Shit.

Mizutani lets himself fall back on his face, groaning. Showing _that_ off would be even ruder, not to mention the humiliation.

"You okay?" Izumi inquires, sounding mildly concerned.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

"I'm fine," he squeaks. Only, he's pretty sure that a small rock could figure out that was a lie, so he amends. "Cramp. In my leg."

He only realizes that that was the wrong thing to say when Izumi's fingers brush against his calf. "Here?"

"No!"

That's another mistake because the hand moves up, past the back of his knee and onto his thigh, and oh god his hands are twice as large as before, that's the only way to explain why they're everywhere all of a sudden. Mizutani moans in dismay, which Izumi doesn't interpret right this time, beginning to massage his thigh the same way he did with his back.

It still feels good. Awesome, actually, so much that the burgeoning erection he's been sporting makes its way to full wood despite his desperate attempts to think thoughts that will make it go down. Runner on third seems like a good contender until he remembers that the entire point of the training was to learn to focus exclusively on one thing. In this case, that happens to be the exact distance between the tip of Izumi's fingers and the zone where they Must Not Go.

He makes an effort to keep breathing normally, but that turns out to be disturbingly loud.

"How's that cramp?" Izumi sounds genuinely interested, even as he works his fingers up Mizutani's inner thigh, sliding easily inside the boxer leg. They're strong and warm and he feels his muscles twitch; unsure whether he wants to close his legs in self-protection or spread them wider for better access.

"It's..." Good start. Now what? 'Still there', and Izumi will continue to try to help by making things worse. 'Gone', and he has no excuse to not roll over, which will expose him and _then_ he'll be in trouble.

He's pretty sure Izumi won't punch him for something like that. At worse, he'll start laughing.

And he won't stop. Ever. Years down the line, the memory will randomly pop up in his head and he'll start snickering. And possibly email Mizutani about it. _Hey, remember that time when you hurt your back and..._

Mizutani ducks his head further between his arms, groaning.

"Well?" Izumi insists, fingertips sliding down the crease of his thigh, now way past anything that can be considered a safe boundary.

It hits him, just then, that boundaries goes both ways. Izumi isn't Mihashi. He knows that some things are Not Done, which means that there is no way, _no way_ he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Which is actually good, because that means he can share that piece of information.

"What are you doing?" Mizutani squeaks, not half as demanding as he aimed for.

Izumi's fingers falter, but only for a moment before he starts up again, rubbing at skin that's never been this sensitive before.

"Something stupid, I think," he answers in a voice that's not his own, too deep, too shaky. He takes a deep breath. "Should I stop?"

_Yes._ Of course he should stop, what the hell is he even doing? Except it's hands secure on his body, hard on all the right spots and soft everywhere else and wasn't he thinking, earlier, that he never wanted it to stop?

"If you want," he says, mouth dry. That way it's okay, right? If it's not him making the decision, it doesn't really mean anything? Right?

"Okay," Izumi says in a snort, and shifts on the bed. "Roll over."

"What? Why?" That wasn't the plan. Repeat, _that was not the plan._

"I can't get proper access like this. To the cramp."

Oh god. Oh god oh god _oh god_ nonono he can't do that, he really really can't do that but there are fingers curled around his hip, tugging lightly, and he doesn't have the strength to resist anymore, not after his muscles have been so thoroughly turned to mush. He follows the guidance, throwing an arm over his eyes the moment his back touches the mattress. But even that isn't soon enough to not catch a glimpse of how he looks, erection tenting his boxers and a darker spot on the fabric that makes it clear that he's been hard for a good long while.

Izumi says nothing, but his hand slides down Mizutani's thigh, as warm and heavy as before. Only now it's centimeters away from the stiffest hard-on he's ever had, and he can't think of anything but how he wants that hand to move up, to skip the teasing and go straight to the good part.

If he's even going to get the good part, which there's no way to be sure about without asking, which he just can't do. So for the next eternity it's the slide of skin against skin, fingers stroking every inch of his thighs, coming up so slowly it's like that theory according to which to get anywhere you have to cover half of the distance first, and half of that before and so on and so on until every movement is impossible. That's how it feels right now, like those hands will never move up and touch him where he wants them to because of some fundamental law of the universe.

He's breathing slow and deep, eyes shut and hidden under his arm, breaking into a sweat from all the moving he's not doing. He can feel the chafe of his boxers, bunched as far up as they'll go. Hear the cars passing outside, feel the weight of the air that enters his lungs with every sharp breath he takes.

The first touch is as good as nothing, almost accidental, but it still makes him throw his arm down on the blanket, eyes opening wide as he gasps.

He can't take this. It's too much, he doesn't have the patience, and so he reaches for himself, desperate -- and whimpers when his wrist gets caught in a strong grip and slammed against the mattress.

"Don't interfere," Izumi says, but it sounds less like irritation and more like he does after getting to first base on a clean single, all energy and grins and delight. It never fails to boost Mizutani's confidence that the best is yet to come. This time, too, all he can do is relent and send his apologies to his future self, who will have to bear endless teasing for the rest of his life. _I hope it was worth it_, future Mizutani answers, and, well.

He hopes so, too.

For now his eyes are closed so tight a tear escapes, slides down the side of his face as two of Izumi's fingers trail up the inside of his arm. A squeeze on his shoulder and it's back down his chest, so light it's barely there until his fingers catch at the elastic of his boxers. Mizutani's hips rise on instinct, willing him to take the underwear off; what he gets is a disapproving noise and sudden pressure on his hip, forcing him back down.

Despite his previous decision, he almost shakes it off. It's not a strong hold, nothing but a warning, and anyway Izumi only has two hands, can't hold his hands down and stop him from moving his hips at the same time.

And then one of those hands is wrapped around fabric at the base of his cock and the thumb sneaks in the open fly of his boxers, slides over the heated skin and it's all Mizutani can to do slap his wrist on his mouth and _bite_ in order not to cry out. It's only a matter of seconds now, there's no way he can hold out any longer.

Except Izumi takes his time, just as he's done through the entire thing. He strokes so slow and lax that Mizutani can't even tell if there's any real friction or if it's only the draft coming from under the door. Either way it makes him hiss, but even if he draws it out it still doesn't take half as long as Izumi's hand going up his cock just once.

He wants tight, fast, goal-driven. What he gets is steady but loose, as if this is another muscle to rub the tension out of. He wants to protest that it doesn't work like that, he can't possibly get off with just this, not even when every brush of a callus on the underside of his cock draws a hiss from his lips. He has them too, now, but they've never made him feel like that, never made him shiver and yearn.

Because he always goes straight to the point, would never tease himself with this excruciatingly slow slide of the grip around his cock.

It's never this good, either. He never feels the build-up like this, the slow tightening inside, never has the time to be filled like this with the promise of something extraordinary.

Never ends up crying in frustration from trying to keep himself still as he hangs on the edge of it for what seems like ever, big stupid tears that pearl at the corners of his eyes and roll down slowly one by one until Izumi swipes his thumb across the head of his dick and the shock of it makes the orgasm pulse through him, white-hot, arching him against the pressure on his hip.

He crashes on the bed, after, a few centimeters that feel like light-years and leave him wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, mind blank until reality creeps back in. The one in which his teammate, his _friend_, has just wordlessly jerked him off on his own bed. And is getting up now, making the bed shift with him.

Mizutani doesn't dare to look until he hears the door close. Then he opens his eyes and looks around, frantically looking for all other signs that the world has just spun out of its axis.

It's almost a shock to see that nothing much has changed since the last time he looked, except for the come splattered up his chest, which is kind of yucky. Thankfully, he knows how to get to the paper tissues under his bed without even looking. He cleans himself up as well as he can, and even manages to grasp his t-shirt with the tip of his fingers. It sticks a little against his skin when he puts it on, but that's still better than staying here barely dressed and waiting for Izumi to come back.

Which he will. Surprise handjob notwithstanding, Izumi is a sensible guy. If he'd been storming out, he wouldn't have left both his bags here.

By the alarm clock shining red on the bedside table, it takes him eight minutes to get back, and his hand smells like soap when he hands Mizutani one of the two bottles of iced tea he brought back with him. He sinks back to his original position, propped against the bed, so close that Mizutani could smell his hair if he so wanted. Not that he does.

He should really find some way to dispel the tension, though, because the silence is going to get awkward soon.

"So, is this part of what Shigapo tau--" he shuts up when Izumi raises an index finger in front of his face.

"Hold that thought." A deep breath. "We're alone here, and you can barely move. If you were to die in a tragic accident of, say, me holding a pillow on your face until you stop breathing, nobody would ever know what happened. Think about that for a second." He pauses briefly, grabs his bottle again. "Now, what were you going to ask?"

It's tempting to say it despite the threat, just to see what Izumi will do, but that might make him seriously angry and that's not something Mizutani wants directed at him in this lifetime. The joke wasn't even that funny, anyway. "My sister knows you're here," he points out, just in case.

Izumi takes a long swig, swallows, wipes his mouth. "We weren't introduced. I might take the chance that she won't recognize me."

"She'll recognize you," Mizutani insists, but falls short of explaining why. He's always talked about his school life at the dinner table, and while the year started mostly with raving about Tajima's hitting, Suyama's fielding, and Abe's unfairness, he does realize that Izumi has featured a lot in his tales recently. Which is not something he wants to mention in the current circumstances. That would only confuse things even more.

Only now, they're back to awkward silence.

"I don't think you need much practice after all," Mizutani says, going back to a previous mental thread. "You're pretty good." Oh yeah, way to leave the unstable ground behind. "I mean, with your hands. _I mean--_ " He throws his arm over his eyes, horrified. "Oh god."

"Let me try," Izumi offers slowly, without moving from the position in which they can comfortably not look at each other at all. "Cut in if I miss something, but here's the situation. You like Shinooka." Fine, he's not going to deny it this one time. "I don't have special feelings for anybody." There's a subtle emphasis on the word, which is reassuring in a way, but stings a little all the same. He didn't have to put it so bluntly. "Something... spontaneous happened earlier. I don't think either of us is damaged for life."

"Nuh-huh," Mizutani concurs. It's weird, how easily his agitation got soothed. _There's no reason why things can't still be normal._ Just that, and he can go back to enjoying the aftermath, which is bone-deep and a hundred times more than the quick on-the-field fix of tickling.

He's even kind of hungry, now, but luckily there's tasty anpan right here. Life is good.

"And it'll stay between us." There's a hint of a threat there, maybe, so Mizutani nods enthusiastically around his mouthful of delicious bread.

"So the only question is.... Is it: A, never going to happen, be talked or thought of again, B, likely to maybe happen again some time depending on mood and circumstances, or C, something to schedule regularly?"

Mizutani swallows. It's kind of amazing how Izumi manages to say that like he's asking what filling Mizutani wants for his onigiri. Which isn't something he generally asks about, come to think of it. It's more Shinooka's question, in fact, but she's maybe not the person Mizutani wants to think about right now. That's a fit of shame for another time, because for now he has another question to answer.

A difficult one, even with all the options laid out like that. Of course it should never happen again, it shouldn't have happened at all in the first place. But never again? He remembers, vaguely, that every agonizing second felt like forever at the time, but now it seems like it hardly lasted any time at all, and never is a pretty long time. But if he says that...

"You know what, I'll mark just it down as a B for the time being, and you can tell me the final answer in your own time." Izumi has moved at some point during what was primed to become a fit of silent panic. He's looking at Mizutani now, and looks both amused and kind of concerned, which makes Mizutani wonder what _he_ looks like.

But mostly he's not demanding an answer, and whatever else is to be said about Izumi, he always knows how to make things _easy_. "Yeah, okay," Mizutani says with a tentative smile, and bites in his anpan again.

"Good. Now, about that homework..." And then it's easier still, everything as normal despite the alphabet rolling in the back of his mind.

A, B or C. Sure, he'll decide.

In his own time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift mini-comic from Sora! Pages [1](http://i292.photobucket.com/albums/mm32/Sorano_sky/oofuri.jpg), [2](http://i292.photobucket.com/albums/mm32/Sorano_sky/oofuri2.jpg), [3](http://i292.photobucket.com/albums/mm32/Sorano_sky/oofuri3.jpg). :)


	2. Seven Minutes in Hell (Spare One for the Good Stuff)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing about running out without a word is that it makes re-entry difficult.

It's not a wake-up call, not exactly, because Izumi's been awake and aware from the beginning. But still, feeling a cock that's not his own throb in his hand, hearing the whimper that accompanies it, is enough to jolt him into a different sense of reality.

He gets up almost immediately and leaves the room without a word. Not the smoothest of moves, maybe, but right now he'll settle for sane.

Behind him, the latch closes with an anticlimactic click.

What now?

Instinct dictates that he run away right now, and possibly hire a hitman on his way home to make sure he never has to face what he just did. Practicality suggests that he needs to wash his hands.

The bathroom is easily found, at least, and Izumi lets the water run over his wrists for much longer than necessary, staring at himself in the mirror.

What was that?

Correction, what _the fuck_ was that?

It all started easy. Normal. The door opened to him before he could even press the doorbell, leaving him face to face with a pretty girl a couple of years older than him, with a cheerful smile and strong perfume and disarming manners. He wasn't even able to get a word in that she'd already established he was Fumiki's friend from the baseball team, here to visit her idiot brother and safe to let into her home even as she was leaving. The whirlwind lasted maybe forty seconds and then he was inside and on his own, with an open invitation to help himself to food and drinks in the kitchen and directions to his friend's bedroom.

Not unexpectedly, he found Mizutani sprawled on his bed in sleeping attire, with piles of manga laid out all around him. The comment came out before Izumi had decided on how best to scare hm out of his wit.

He got a pout and a grin and a pained gasp within the first five minutes, which put him in a good enough mood to offer his services. It was a little stressful, maybe, having to pay attention to every sound and move to make sure he wasn't doing something wrong. It took a lot of focus, but it seemed worth it, for the occasional pleased sigh and the knots melting under his hands.

There was satisfaction in that, but it would have been weird to keep going just because Izumi enjoyed doing it, and so he stopped.

And then Mizutani was slamming himself down on the futon and Izumi knew what it was, understood the cause without a shadow of a doubt.

And went for more.

Which is the part that doesn't quite compute. Because sure, he dropped by the cafeteria before even volunteering to come over. Sure, he enjoys interacting with Mizutani, making him revolve through an endless catalog of emotions just to see what face he'll make. Sure, he likes that Mizutani comes to him more often than not when they pair up for practice.

The 'but' that should follow is made of so much denial of the facts that Izumi can't even make himself think it. It looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck and there's no point in trying to deny it, because he wouldn't have gone on with anyone else, and he's pretty sure that Mizutani would have stopped most other people, too.

He's probably panicking on his bed right now, and the thought causes a mental picture of Mizutani as a turtle on its back, paddling desperately to get back on its feet.

The image makes him smile before turning into something else entirely even though it still involves Mizutani on his back and writhing, and reminds Izumi that he wasn't unaffected either, that he's still uncomfortably hard.

It's bad manners to do this in someone else's home, in their bathroom. But then, it's also bad manners to do it _to_ someone like he did, and this might very well be the lesser offense.

Izumi grabs his dick with something like desperation, eyes looking beyond the mirror, and there's no teasing this time, no evocation of big-breasted beauties to populate his fantasy world. He strokes hard, fast, tight, and comes in under a minute with a shudder and a mess all over his hands, some of it even splashing on the sink.

So he washes it, and his hands again, now feeling a lot calmer as he scrubs. The situation hasn't changed, but at least he can think about it sensibly.

He needs to get back to the room, if only to pick up his bags. This means interacting with Mizutani, and at the moment, the fact that he's just rushed to jerk off in the bathroom would be an elephant in the room. He can't just go back like that.

Maybe if he brought something back with him? He wonders, looking around a little desperately. Soap might not send the right message. Nor would a razor. Nor perfume, unless...

Olfactory memory strikes as he inspects the bottle, reminding him of something Mizutani's sister told him eons ago.

_There's iced tea in the fridge if you want._

It's good enough. As the guest, he should have been offered something to drink in the first place, and since Mizutani can't move, it was up to him to go get it. Good.

Now the real question is what he's going to say when he comes in. Ignoring the past half hour altogether is tempting, but probably not good in the long run. It'd better to clear the air, but clear it with what? "I think we should do this as often as we can and I shouldn't have to do all the work either" is unlikely to fly well regardless of how much Mizutani liked him an hour ago. On the other hand, "this was a disgusting mistake and in fact I was possessed by aliens while it happened and we must both forget about it" tastes bitter in his mouth.

He opens one of the bottles and takes a quick gulp to wash the taste away.

The most reasonable way to handle this would be to tell Mizutani that he wants to do it again (and again and again, because the rush of having him pliant under his hands is something that he can't possibly get enough of).

Except without actually telling him, because that's kind of terrifying. Also, Mizutani might want to punch him for it and then he'd hurt himself even worse, and whine endlessly that he can't play in the Spring Tournament and it's all Izumi's fault.

He's going to go in and say _something_ because he can't stay here at the door forever.

Only...

Maybe he doesn't have to _say_ anything. They'll have to talk, sure, but isn't that what Mizutani did earlier? He didn't say yes and he sure as hell didn't say no despite being given plenty of occasions to do so. He didn't say anything, but things happened anyway.

Maybe it's time the tables were turned.

Izumi takes a deep breath as he opens the door, walks in, and silently hands the open bottle to Mizutani.


	3. Helping Hands: Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mizutani's own time turns out to be 'never'. But rules are overrated anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the kind people at the kink meme for encouraging me to write this! :&gt;

In the end, Mizutani never picks his option.

At least he never openly says it, even when his actions start speaking for themselves. By that point, it should really be obvious anyway.

In the weeks that follow his injury, what he does do is find out that Izumi likes his handjobs quick and messy and borderline public, whereas he himself has acquired an unexpected taste for drawn-out and torturous, and that even seemingly conflicting interests can be brought together through careful compromise. Which more or less means that any time his parents aren't home Izumi will come over, and when that's not possible, well, they're probably finding out more about the school's nooks and crannies than the people who built it ever knew.

Today is the sixth time, here, making 'habit' topple into 'tradition', which is partly why Mizutani doesn't even put his boxers back on after his shower and merely lays his towel on the bed before plopping down on top of it. But not before rummaging in his bedside table drawer for a few seconds.

He's already feeling kind of cold when Izumi comes in a few minutes later, and coughs. "Is this some kind of ritual with you? Every single time I come here you have fewer clothes on."

There's comfort in the familiarity of this, the fake surprise and light teasing. It always stops by itself anyway, usually right before Izumi puts his hands on him. Still, sometimes Mizutani wonders whether things would be different if he'd said it before the window of opportunity closed, whether Izumi would stop pretending he doesn't know why he's here. It's that small uncertainty that makes him rise up to the bait, every time. "Come on," he whines, "it's getting cold here."

"Do you need me to show you where you keep your clothes?" Izumi asks derisively, but by that point he's already stripped off his own t-shirt and straddled Mizutani's thighs.

He's not as careful with the oil as he was the first time, but Mizutani has found that there's a small thrill in waiting for the cold drop and guessing where it might end, which is where Izumi will be touching him first. It's down his spine today, a little under the shoulderblades. As usual, it makes him hiss. As usual, it's quickly soothed into warm circles.

The real difference with the first time, however, isn't their state of dress or the temperature of the massage oil that Izumi's taken to carrying around with him at all times. The difference is in the end game, and how he's seriously hard before Izumi's hands even reach his waist, the anticipation making things a dozen times better. Even if today, of all days, he can't be exactly sure what's to come.

Except him, that is.

"What's so funny?" Izumi asks, his hands never stopping in their wonderous work.

It's a horrible pun, but the amazing part is that it's enough for him to say "nothing," Izumi won't push further even though he _is_ allowed to tickle now and there is precious little information that Mizutani won't surrender to that. Even the Things about Shinooka he never wants to say out loud, although to be fair Izumi never went so far as to physically torture him for the information.

Nor does he ever take advantage of his dominant position in any way and for any reason; which, past the surface comfort, has Mizutani a little miffed. To have someone you're reasonably attracted to spread their legs under you and never even try to do something about it? That's more self-control than any teenage boy ought to have, even if said spreading was innocent. Which it hasn't been, the past two times, when Izumi's fingers slid down the small of his back and moved on to his legs, paying no heed to the moans or the twitch of Mizutani's thighs.

Seriously, what does it take?

He's moving closer to that zone, right now, so Mizutani forces himself to breathe normally, to relax against the bed. There's nothing to be worried about here. They both know how this goes. There's no embarrassment left in being hard from this, not when he knows Izumi gets off on the effect he has on him, on the sounds and the writhing and, okay, a couple of well-placed strokes that he helpfully guides Mizutani through, providing strength and direction to something that would otherwise be a very slack and uncoordinated grip indeed. (Mizutani would say it's karma at work, but the truth is that his limbs forget how to obey his instructions after Izumi's done with him.)

It's cold outside, he remembers hazily as every knot in his muscles melts as soon as touched. It gets to below freezing in the mornings; even Tajima wears a heavy jacket on his short walk to school. It's nicer in here, the heater pushed just a little higher to account for the fact that he's laying there naked with no cover.

But that's not why all of his skin feels hot, that's not why he can feel twin drops of sweat trailing down his shoulder blades, onto his spine. And then further, slowly, rolling all the way down until they meld together at the small of his back. He's weirdly aware of it, and Izumi's hands are unmoving at his flanks, making it feel even more awkward.

Mizutani is just about to either say something or try to wriggle it away when he feels the shift over him, Izumi changing positions, and then the sweat is wiped off, except, except...

His hands haven't moved and Mizutani is dimly aware of the noise that escapes from him and the thousand embarrassing words Izumi could use to describe it, if he wasn't busy tracing the path up his back with the tip of his tongue.

It's against the rules, kind of. Not that there are any rules, none stated out loud at least, but the fact is, if he can get his mind away from the wet path being etched up his skin, the fact _is_ that they don't use tongues. Or lips, even. No kissing, no licking, no biting, no talking. They're not a couple or anything like that, and so it would be silly to do things like kissing or even spending a minute every now and then letting all their surroundings disappear into thin air, leaving nothing to awareness but the curve of lips and the pattern of freckles he could draw in his sleep--

Okay, so Mizutani's thought about it. Multiple times. Sometimes when he should really have been listening to Shigapo instead. Doesn't mean it ever happens, so this is still breaking the rules.

Which, beyond how good it feels, is a very good thing because Mizutani has kind of been planning for a trespass of his own, if only he dares to do it, if he can stop his fingers from fidgeting under the pillow just long enough... but not right now. Not now, because Izumi's moved all the way up and even pushed some hair to the side to press his lips against the nape of his neck. He's so... _there_, the pressure of his knees on either side of Mizutani's thighs, the phantom weight of his body leaning over him, trapping him against the bed.

It makes Mizutani's pulse drum under his skin, a reflection of a heartbeat that can't be healthy by any account and maybe now is just the right time after all.

He jerks his left hand from under the pillow and rests it by his head, palm up, making the offering obvious even as his cheeks burn with shame.

Izumi freezes. It shouldn't be so easy to notice, when he moves so slowly to begin with, but Mizutani feels the tension in every spot their bodies are touching. It makes him nervous again, all of a sudden, muscles knotting back together in the six seconds (or thousand days) it takes for Izumi to exhale, expel all the air from his body. And bend back down over him to nuzzle the line where hair meets skin as he moves his hand up Mizutani's arm, two fingers sliding up the inside of his wrist, along the edge of his palm until their hands are aligned, fingers wrapping together, trapping the proffered condom between them.

The grip is so strong that the thought occurs to Mizutani that his left hand might never be the same again; but only until teeth replace lips and his whole body jerks from surprise. Izumi pulls back immediately, so Mizutani bends his head further, tightens his grip around Izumi's fingers, offering, asking, and it probably means something, doesn't it, that he never has to talk but Izumi always gets it.

He feels himself writhing on the sheets as a hickey blooms on his neck, jumping the line between pain and pleasure over and over again until be knows that tomorrow and the day after and the day after that he'll be able to bring his hand there and feel the tender skin and remember every moment of this.

Izumi stops an eternity later. He releases his hold on Mizutani's hand, his fingertips catching on the condom, pulling it away.

It's foreign territory again, but nothing ever seems to have Izumi at a loss anyway. He repositions himself, forcing Mizutani's thighs apart by sneaking one knee between them and then the other, and Mizutani is too busy marvelling at how vulnerable it makes him feel and how emphatically not bad it is to protest when his pillow gets pulled away and his hips tugged up. Before he knows it his hips and ass are elevated, on display for the guy whose hands are laid across the back of his thighs, rubbing small circles with his thumbs.

Then further up, slow as ever but with no hesitation, until those hands are cupping both his buttocks, spreading them apart just the slightest bit. Which is roughly when Mizutani realizes that of course Izumi is going to take his time with this, why would it be any different, and the wait is going to kill him.

He wriggles a little, trying to entice faster action, but all that gets him is the disapproving click of Izumi's tongue.

Only then, _then_ he feels the light tickle of hair against his lower back and that very same tongue against his tailbone, lapping at the small hollow there just as a thumb makes its way between his cheeks. Mizutani whimpers and adjusts his position automatically, spreading his legs further, pushing his hips higher, embarrassingly wanton but already past caring. Izumi makes an amused sound against his skin, licks up one more time before crawling back up Mizutani's body.

"Stop trying to distract me," he orders, except he's hard and pressing right against Mizutani's ass, making him groan and squirm.

"Yes, that. Stop it." But there's a breathless quality to his voice that makes Mizutani pretty sure he's getting to him at least a little.

"What if I don't want to?" he asks, as cheeky as one can be while hiding their burning face.

"Then we might have a problem." Izumi lets himself fall to Mizutani's left side, straddling his leg, and Mizutani hears the snap of a plastic cap behind his head a few seconds before a slick finger starts retracing the path down his spine. It creates shivers all the way to the small of his back, across his tailbone and then it doesn't stop, forcing whatever part of the way isn't already wide open to press against... there. Right there, Mizutani thinks a little hysterically, not pushing in but definitely applying some pressure, and it's cool and slick and it would be so easy to shove it in.

Which Izumi doesn't do, of course, because that would be too damn easy, wouldn't it? He draws circles instead, that grow smaller and smaller as the pressure increases until finally it slides in, no further than the first knuckle. It feels... not bad, just foreign enough that it makes him squirm to make the feeling evolve - more or less doesn't matter as long as there's a change. Izumi makes his tongue click again but bends his finger just a little and oh god it's going to be an actual massage isn't it? Just as diligent and careful as always except _inside_.

Dammit, he's probably going to end up crying again.

"Something wrong?"

Surprised, Mizutani opens his eyes, and finds Izumi looking right back, which only makes him blush. Isn't that another rule, that they don't make more eye contact than necessary? Although seeing Izumi like this, so focused on him, pupils so wide they make his eyes black, Mizutani might forget all about rules.

He licks his lips.

"You're slow," he manages to say, confident enough that it won't make Izumi pull away, stop tracing circles inside him, each one infinitesimally deeper than the next.

"So?" he smirks a little, and half a second later his finger is all the way in, the shock of it making Mizutani gasp. "Hmm?"

But obviously, sometimes Izumi chooses not to get it. Which would be why the next century is more of the same, a single finger curving and twisting inside him, until he thinks he'd beg, if Izumi asked again. For what it's worth, he doesn't, but it's embarrassing enough like this, the way he's shaking, mewling, trying to spread his legs further than they can humanly go. Moaning in relief when finally a second finger joins the first, just as slow and deliberate but there nonetheless, stretching muscles that are not used to being kept that way. The whole thing makes him painfully aware of his own anatomy, of what gives and what doesn't, of the feeling of a couple of fingers pressing inside him. Whenever he's thought about it, it was always kind of distant, just something that would happen, and that would feel good. But the reality of it is that everything is frighteningly _close_.

It still feels good, though.

"You're not bored, are you?" Izumi inquires a couple of minutes after the third finger pushes in.

The idea is so ludicrous it makes Mizutani laugh, although it comes out as more of a sob. He'd roll to the side, if he could, to show Izumi just how not bored he is (and in such a way that he'll definitely need to change that pillowcase later). As it is, all he can do is look right at him and say no, in as sulky and reluctant a tone as he can manage in the face of Izumi's satisfied smile.

Of course, that only makes him smile wider.

"You're too smug," Mizutani tells him.

"Maybe a little," Izumi concedes, and he's changing positions, suddenly coming closer and...

Oh.

It shouldn't take precedence like this, a simple peck on the lips has nothing on the way he's being finger-fucked, but it still makes whatever was left of Mizutani's brain jar to a halt. He searches Izumi's face for some kind of explanation, but all he finds is a half-smirk and a raised eyebrow, as though he's being asked _what are you going to do now?_

He answers by leaning over, going for their second kiss, aware all the while that he's still being stretched, still twitching his hips to make it seem just a little faster. But all that takes a step back when Izumi kisses back, opens his mouth, traces the edge of Mizutani's lips with his tongue. Why haven't they done this before? Where did the rule come from that has been stopping them from kissing all this time, when it makes him feel like everything he's ever wanted is right here at his fingertips? His neck is twisted beyond comfort and they can't align properly and moving is out of the question because then Izumi will pull out and probably decide to start all over again because he's mean like that, but none of that matters when he can hear the drumming of his heartbeat and feel Izumi's cock twitch repeatedly against his hip.

It makes him want to say everything, _I love having your hands on me_ and _I just want to know how this feels at least once and you're the only one I can ever think of asking_ and _I never answered your question but you know the truth, right?_ and, most prominently, _can't I have you, for real?_

"Do it," is what he says. "I'm ready."

"What if I'm not?" Izumi retorts, bending his fingers in a way that makes Mizutani squirm.

Still, he doesn't lose track of his argument, pushes his hip against the erection straining Izumi's boxers and makes a noise he hopes expresses disbelief and a hint of contempt.

It doesn't seem to bother Izumi overmuch. "Oh, right," he says with a slight smirk. He pulls his fingers out, the first thing he's done fast since entering the room, and for a second Mizutani feels the sharp loss there.

"Come _on_," he protests, emboldened, but this time his hip bumps against a hand which he can only guess is down there for...

"Give me a minute here," Izumi answers, slightly irritated but mostly distracted. "You're so fucking spoiled."

_Because you spoil me_ almost spills out of Mizutani's lips, but that's no exactly the Best Retort Ever even if it's the truth. He enjoys every moment of it after all, even when he wants to tell himself he hates it. So he answers with a groan, and leaves it at that.

"Move," he hears not too long after, and obediently follows the tug of fingers on his hip, rolls over until he's laying on his side with Izumi behind him, so close he can almost feel him all over his back. So he goes a little further, lets himself fall back until he's caught, like in that bonding game his middle school coach kept making them play. It earns him an amused sound and a series of light kisses on his shoulder that spread a shiver all through his body.

"Talk to me, okay?" Izumi whispers against his skin.

"About what?" Mizutani squeaks, suddenly panicked as though the teacher just mentioned there was something unexpected on the test counting for half his grades.

"I don't know." Mizutani knows he's been said to overlook the occasional non-verbal cue, but there's no way to miss the sarcasm dripping from Izumi's voice. "What's the last movie you saw? Was it any good?" And he's pulling Mizutani's cheeks apart, positioning something there that is most definitely not a finger and this is really happening, isn't it.

"You already know that, we went together," he protests, well aware that it's completely missing the point.

"That's true. Find something else, then." Mizutani feels the push before it happens, tries not to tense up but it hurts anyway, hurts like fucking hell despite all the preparation and Izumi's just pushing in, the bastard, not paying any attention to...

The pain recedes. He still feels it, of course, the sting and the stretch and the residual hurt, but it's not as bad.

"Ow," he says anyway, just to make the point.

"See, you _said_ you were ready," Izumi tells him. He's acting casual, but Mizutani can feel the rise and fall of his chest and he is _so_ not as composed as he's trying to be.

"Maybe I would still have been if you hadn't taken so long."

"Ah, so it's my fault?"

"Definitely," Mizutani says, squirming a little. It's not painful anymore, as such, but a little uncomfortable all the same, and much like earlier, he really wants something to change. "Are you going to move?"

"Man, you're impatient." But he's moving already, slow and shallow but not so much that Mizutani can't feel himself being spread apart.

"Look who's talking," he manages to expel. Izumi's definitely worse than him in that regard, because for all the teasing he does, he can't take much in return.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mizutani isn't stupid, really. He has enough experience by now to be able to tell when Izumi is being deliberately distracting, because more often than not he does it for his sake. He's being taken care of again, distracted as Izumi pushes inside him, makes him used to the foreign feeling. He knows what's going on, but he takes the bait anyway.

"You're the one who never wants to wait," he answers, closing his eyes to get no other stimulus than sound and touch. "Always making me go as fast and hard as I can from the get-go. How come I never get to-- oh."

_Oh_, because he's not moving now, because Mizutani can feel his thighs against him and that's a short-circuit right there.

"You're inside me," he gasps. It feels like a revelation, not only the weight inside him and the trembling of his limbs and the feeling of being spread open and taken, but also the way Izumi is under his skin, has been for longer than he remembers. It feels like a revelation but it _sounds_ trite and obvious, a stupid line pulled out of a thousand porn scenes that does nothing to describe the intensity of what he's feeling. So bad he finds himself silently begging for mercy, _please don't make fun of me for this I don't think I can take it_.

Izumi laughs against his back, a short sweet sound that usually invites Mizutani into his world, but right now all it seems to do is make him feel small and brittle. "Yeah," Izumi whispers, his breath brushing over Mizutani's skin. "I know, I'm..." but he never finishes and even those few words sound breathless, shaken. "You're so..." and he trails off and laughs again and the knot in Mizutani's stomach unties as easily as it formed. "Fuck, I don't even know what I'm saying."

"That's fine," Mizutani finds himself saying, maybe laughing a little himself, "that's fine, just..."

_Just_ is all he needs to say and Izumi starts moving again, so slow and shallow and it's not pleasurable in any obvious way but still breathtaking, almost frightening in its intensity and any pain he might have felt dissolves into heat because Izumi's hand has fallen from his hip and onto the hard-on nobody has been paying much attention to so far, which was a truly terrible oversight. Izumi seems to be determined to make up for it, his fingers dealing butterfly touches all over, just once before he curls them into a circle around the head. Of course Mizutani jerks into it, making himself gasp from the dual sensation.

Not just himself, either, so he tries it the other way, thrusting back against Izumi and yeah, he definitely likes that.

Likes that enough to make everything stop as he props himself on an elbow, nudges Mizutani's knee forward and makes them roll over a little; but Mizutani's got it now, the ways he can move and make Izumi hiss between his teeth. By the time they're in position he knows exactly what he wants to do. It's easier too, now that he has a little leverage to slither back and forth just how he wants it. For all that Izumi is half laying on top of him, he's not being held down, this time, so it's his choice to pick up the pace, to turn the casual slide on sheets into full-blown thrusts, into Izumi's blessedly tight grip and back onto his cock, feelings that couldn't be more different but match up fantastically until his eyes glaze over and his hips are moving by themselves and he's moaning continuously and he's not the only one, either, because what else can he call the wordless whispers being uttered against his neck?

Just when Mizutani thinks he can finish himself like this Izumi moves again, matching his rhythm almost immediately and now it's not both sensations in turn, it's everything at the same time and Izumi's whispers turning to words that are mostly curses. Whereas his are more on the lines of 'oh' and 'there' and 'please' and then 'yesyesyes don't stop don't--" and it's that moment, right then, when Izumi is deep inside and all around and all over, when the only things in existence are the two of them on his bed, that he feels himself shatter and fall and Izumi doesn't stop, keeps fucking him through it so that it seems his thrusts are directly pushing the last spurts of come out of him.

And then Izumi is falling too, clutching at his hip and gasping for breath as Mizutani finishes riding his own orgasm and he wants to kiss now, right now, so he rips himself away and rolls over and doesn't think, just does it. It shouldn't be surprising after all this but Izumi welcomes him, pulls him closer and they both laugh at the squishy sound of come being smeared over both their chests.

That's going to take another shower, but there's still at least an hour before anyone comes back. For now, it's enough to lay there and touch to his heart's content, to trace invisible edges all over Izumi's back, always the same pattern: a downward stroke, a curve.

He's never come out and picked his option. By now, he's pretty sure he doesn't have to, not out loud, not when he's writing D's on every surface of skin that falls under his hands.

It's never been laid out what that means, either, but that's okay too.

Izumi always understands anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is horrified at the idea of using massage oil as lube with a latex condom, let me just say this: Izumi is _sneaky_. And reads how-to-use notices.


End file.
